Merope's Misery
by Artanis
Summary: A glimpse into the tragically short life of Merope Gaunt.Oneshot. May end up being longer/a series of oneshots, depending on the level of interest! Can be read in conjunction with Disenchanted...


**Author's Note**: So, this can stay as a oneshot and you can review it as such, or, if you desire more chapters tell me so and I'll consider writing more. I couldn't resist writing this, I've been toying with the concept of poor Merry Mope for months. It both fascinates and depresses me, as does the story of Tom Riddle and all the purebloods(even the nasty ones who nobody likes). So I've taken it upon myself to bore the hell out of you with my interpretation. This can be read separately or in conjunction with Disenchanted(Tom Riddle/OC. Which I have not abandoned! I apologize, next time there's a hold, I promise to warn you guys!).

Any recognizable character's belong to JKR. The Sinclaire's belong to me, as does Aspelenie(quite literally! XD)

"_To be happy, one must not be too concerned with others." ~__**Albert Camus**_

~*~

I have always known that I am ugly. That I am plain, dull, a featureless brown amid a riot of colours so bright they outshine the stars. A pigeon in the world of peacocks and phoenix's. The sentiment of misery has been beaten into my mind so thoroughly it is like a stain that will never come out, no matter how much I scrub at it. I am foul and not for this world, muggle or magical or any at all.

Disgusting. Frigid ice water bites into the cracked skin of my knuckles as I try to wash the meager pile of filthy laundry, cursing ever being born at all. Squib, ugly, unmagical squib. After seventeen years of abuse, of knowing that I would have to marry my own brother, My lunatic brother, any sane girl would have left. Would have just run away, rather to die free then live out the rest of their miserable life in a stinking hole working as a maidservant to her own flesh and blood. At least they were trapped there with me, stewing and festering like the vile things we were. I threw the misshapen article of clothing away from me and collapsed back into the verdant grass beside the brook, feeling exhausted.

"Aspelenie, tell me again how the descendents of Salazar fell into such ruin?" One of the few useful gifts that this loathsome life of inbreeding had given me was my ability to speak with snakes. It was a boon, a terrific one to have when one has no friends or teachers of the human variety. The little corn snake was twined around the branch of a rowan bush above my head and as I spoke, she gently slid down to rest beside my head in a delicate coil.

"The Slytherin fortune was gambled away by the family of Gaunt years ago. Lost to the heirs of Ravenclaw, who now occupy the house that should have been your's. There is not much more to tell that will not encourage your present state of mind Merry Mope." Snakes had a peculiar sense of humour.

"I have reason to mope." I leaned out over the clear pool of water and glared down at my reflection. My face was square, heavy with thin, awkward lips and a squashed-looking nose. My complexion was like the dust of the road that ran by our hut, pallid, dirty brown. Eyes like swamp muck that stared off in opposite directions and hair that hung lank and mousy around my face.

"You are no uglier than any other human to me, Merope. We snakes love beauty, but you don't see me wrapped around Megaera Malfoy's wrist, do you?" Aspelenie wound herself around my arm like a beautiful, tessellated amber bracelet and flicked her pointed tongue at me. Sharply, she recoiled and I felt the stab of rejection as she slithered off me. "You should bathe more often, you know. You taste absolutely dreadful."

"Bathing wont help the size of my nose or the fact that my eyes are wonky." I called to her moodily as I slipped out of my shapeless shift and jumped into a small but deep pool just upstream from where I'd washed the clothes

"Bathe or I shall never speak to you again, Merope. Make up for your lack of looks by keeping yourself clean." With one final flick of her carnelian tail, the conversation was over.

She could be unnecessarily cruel, my Aspelenie, but at least she was honest. I have always found it best to face the ugly truths of your life. While it hurts with a bitter, deep and persistent pain, at the very least it frees your mind to do something about it. Beauty and lightness, while a comforting reassurance, is no motivator.

Take for instance, the darling Malfoy whom I have known since my youth. Little did it matter that my blood was much purer than hers, that I was a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. All I had to show for it was my hideous face and two shabby family heirlooms. I would have traded it all in a heartbeat, heritage and priceless artifacts combined, if I could have been blessed with her beauty. Her magic…well, magic had no fondness for me, so why should I care if I had it or not?

The Sinclaire's and the Malfoy's were the only wizarding families we knew. Not that it mattered, for they wanted nothing to do with us, thought that we were a mad bunch of inbreds who'd somehow been left with a fake inheritance. Only it wasn't fake, and Morfin was the mad one, not I. My ill-remembered childhood had been spent racing around at the heels of the two families heirs nonetheless, dashing about like a servant. Perhaps it was not so much my fathers encouragement as it had been theirs that lead me to believe so fully in my ugliness…

Apple blossoms fell in a glorious curtain of whites and pinks, carpeting the fresh spring grass and perfuming the air as they were crushed underfoot. Merope Gaunt, resembling her surname now more than ever as an underfed and stringy six year-old, crouched amid the damsons and blackberry bushes and watched the young purebloods as they lounged beneath the twisted old trees of the orchard. They sat in a round, looking for all the world like the lost progeny of fairies with their fine, fluttery clothing and the careful way they had all arranged themselves.

Envy so acute it was painful filled her chest; not one of these children was ugly or underfed. Not a nose that was any larger or smaller than perfect proportion, not a single lazy eye. The three Malfoy girls looked a vision, the oldest with her cornsilk hair that hung in little ringlets of perfection, the middle with hair as straight and red as fox's fur and the third of wavy raven locks. The fourth girl was the one Sinclaire daughter, whose elegant face was framed by dark hair that shone in the mid-afternoon sunlight with burgundy strands. Merope's thoughts turned to her own hair and she plucked at it apathetically. It had no colour of any particular merit, even when it was clean. Just a dullish, blondish, brownish shade that seemed to blend almost perfectly with things like dead leaves and dust. Morosely, she peeked through the bushes again to examine the two boys.

The tallest and probably the oldest sat beside Cornsilk, managing to look regal and composed despite the smudge of dirt across his nose. He had the classically Sinclaire-ian good-looks that Marvolo had taught her to associate with the purest blood. But Marvolo had also claimed that she and Morfin were of the purest blood, but comparing Morfin to this boy would be like comparing a common sparrow to an eagle. The youngest boy was another Sinclaire, but this one with looks more akin to the sister in whose lap he sat. He looked small compared to the rest, younger even than Merope. She immediately liked him, spying a shadow of the same downtrodden feeling that she herself was so familiar with.

"Well," Cornsilk stated with her bitter little voice. "I think that was the most tedious lunch party yet."

"Quite. I do wonder what they're planning for all of us." The Sinclaire beside her looked boredly at his shiny black shoes. Merope would have killed for a pair of shoes. It had been a long, tortuous walk just get up the hill from Little Hangleton to the Sinclaire's and she could feel the sticky blood between her toes.

But she'd gladly have made it everyday just for the fruit she could steal. Juicy apples and ripe damsons, an assortment of berries…all of which were miraculously free of the maggots that frequented the bushes and trees closer to her home. Her gums hurt and bled when she went without fruit for too long. Right now, she was sure her lips were stained black with juice…surreptitiously, she tried to dab at them with her grimy smock.

"You two are going to get married. That's what they're planning." The Sinclaire sister spoke, her voice cool and collected compared to the reedy piping's of the blonde. She twirled a apple blossom between thumb and forefinger, her expression distant. "You're going to have two daughters and a son-"

"Oh, not this again…" Merope caught sight of the Malfoy girls disgusted expression.

"Be quiet, Meg. Cassie can see the future." _See the future? _Merope thought excitedly, sneaking stealthily closer. _Can she see my future? Will I be pretty…I'll have to ask her._

"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last boy on earth, Tarquinus." Cornsilk stuck out her tongue at the oldest Sinclaire boy, who glared at her in turn. Merope marveled at the way they spoke: like little kings and queens. Clearly they were no older than she was but they acted like miniature adults, refined and poised and noble-

"The prettiest thing about you, Megaera, is the size of your dowry." He replied with a sly smirk in her direction. She gasped and looked utterly scandalized. Merope squinted and tried to guess what Tarquinus meant by 'dowry'. She could only surmise a dowry must be something extraordinarily rude to make the Malfoy gasp like that-The branch Merope had been leaning on snapped like a gunshot and she tumbled through the thorn ridden underbrush of blackberries and landed just feet from the little assembly.

"OH! What is it, what is it!? Kill it, Tarq, kill it!!"

"Back away!"

"Stop! All of you! STOP! It's just a girl…I think." Merope dared peek out from between her fingers at the sound of a concerned voice. Hazel eyes met her gaze and the Sinclaire girl held out a hand. Merope flinched, thinking she was raising the hand to beat her.

"Oh! It's alright, I promise. My name's Cassandra Sinclaire, what's yours?" Merope cowered silently, she wanted to just run away.

"Forget it, Cassandra. It's positively hideous! Let's go somewhere else-"  
"Do shut up, Megaera." Tarquin leaned around his sister and glared imperiously at Merope. "Even if you're right."

"Do you have a name?" Cassandra murmured, looking nervous.

"Merope. Gaunt." Merope gasped, her throat as dry as dust. There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Oh." Cassandra sighed in relief, " I thought for a moment you might have been a muggle."

But your that family that claims to be descended from Salazar Slytherin, aren't you? The Gaunts?"

" We are the heirs of Slytherin." Merope sat up, on the defensive. Half of her wanted to run like before, but maybe Cassandra was nice. Maybe, if Marvolo didn't find out, she might even be able to have a friend.

"_You_? Oh, are you _really_? Without a knut to your name, a dead mother who was probably your fathers sister, and a one room shack?" Megaera laughed hysterically, in her tittering, irritating way. Her words hurt, but it was no more than Merope had expected. It was, in fact, far kinder than most.

"Megaera-"

"Oh, don't defend the little ruffian, sister. She's obviously been thieving from our orchards, just look at her!" Tarquin stood up with purpose. "I'm going to go tell mother and father-"

"Don't you _dare_!" Cassandra snatched her brothers elbow and yanked him back down, looking furious. "Cant you see she's half-starved to death?"

"Oh Merope? Would you like to play with us?" The red-headed Malfoy sister asked, grinning at something Megaera was whispering in her ear.  
"Play?" Merope asked nervously, looking from face to face.

"Yes, play." Megaera grabbed her wrist and pulled Merope to her feet. She noticed with some glee that she was taller than the young Malfoy. Her happiness at this one triumph was dashed when she saw Megaera rub the hand she helped Merope up with on her skirt, ridding it of some imagined grime

"What kind of game?" Merope shifted nervously, only to feel a sharp pain in the back off her head as the dark haired Malfoy girl smacked her.

"Tag!" She sang out and then danced out of reach. "That is, if you can stand to play."

"I can!" Merope assured them, ignoring Cassandra's concerned look her way.

…I still had scars on the soles of my feet from that day. I was too foolish to understand that Cassandra's worry had been anything more than antipathy for my family and condition. I had thought the Malfoy girls kind, with their sweet smiles and bell voices. But they had only sought to cause me pain, as so many before and after them. I had endured the knives of agony searing my feet and lungs simply for a few moments fame in their regard. Only when I grew wise enough to tell the difference between innocence and guile did I learn to avoid them.

I still saw Cassandra occasionally, who used her strange gift to predict my comings and goings and meet me for a short(and mercifully painless, now that I knew how to make or steal my own footwear)walk through the grounds of the Sinclaire estate; always out of sight of the mansion. The Sinclaire's were the heirs of Ravenclaw of which Aspelenie spoke, but that did not prejudice me against them. Perhaps they had simply been born to succeed the heirs of Slytherin, born to the privilege my ancestors had gambled away until it dwindled to nothing-

"SQUUUUIIIIIIIBBBBBBB!!? MEROPE!! Girl!" Oh joy, sheer joy. I hopped out of the creek still dripping wet and wriggled into my still damp dress, ripping clothes off the bushes where I'd hung them to dry and stuffing them into the makeshift laundry basket. I gathered up the bundle of birds eggs and fruits and berries and a loaf of bread stolen from the open window of a small cottage across the way and raced homeward with a heavy heart, reluctant to return to the life that I despised.

~*~

Before you flame me for making Merope sound intelligent, I'd like to say PAH. I've got to give her something, and this is how I think Merope would at least _like _to sound. It assuages my sense of pity for the poor thing. So there. I know I did it, what's it to ya? :D Please read and review, it's all the thanks we fanfic writers get!


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